


Worth Fighting For

by oleanderhoney



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Illness, M/M, author has way too much fun with russian, but a happy ending guaranteed, h/c, he's working on his skating career okay?, ice dads, otayuri but mostly friendship because yuri is still pretty young and i don't want to be weird, viktuuri, yuri also likes milk and is why they call him a kitten, yuri gets two coaches, yuri is their son and he is smol and full of rage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderhoney/pseuds/oleanderhoney
Summary: Due to an illness that has plagued Yuuri since childhood, he never completed the Grand Prix Final in Sochi. Since then he has been helping his family run the onsen, runs a skate-club for kids at Ice Castle, and has all but faded into figure skating obscurity. It's okay, really. This is all that he ever dares ask for himself anyway. It's not grand...but it's fine.Victor Nikiforov, having just won his sixth consecutive World Title is more numb and jaded than ever. He is suffocated by the mundane, and finds himself lacking purpose. A purpose he finds within his young protege, and an unlikely, unassuming man that captivates his heart.Yuri Plisetsky, has lost everything, even the will to skate. Following the death of his grandfather he finds himself drowning and lost. Against his better judgement he goes along with his new harebrained coach, finds out what skating really is, and just might learn something about love along the way.An AU where everything is different, but nothing changes.





	1. March, 2016

**Author's Note:**

> *stands up* Hi my name is Honey and I am from the Sherlock fandom.  
> *in stereo* Hiiiiii Honeeeeyyy.
> 
> Hey all! I'm relatively new to this neck of the woods. Recently I've needed something a little different in my fandom life, and after the somewhat disappointing finale of the other show I so do love, I found THIS BEAUTIFUL THING THAT IS YURI ON ICE!!! There are no words to how marvelous this show is, and what it already means to me, so to express my love I thought I would contribute in some small way to this already impressive group of creative people.
> 
> Anyways...I hope some of you like this and where it goes. And yeah. With out further ado...

**March, 2016**

The cameras flashed, and the reporters vied for their comments to be heard, and — _“Vitya, smile!”_ — smile for camera one, smile for camera two — and it was all just _тот же старый мусор._

“Victor! Victor! What are you planning for next year?”

“Are you going to try and keep your reigning title?”

“Twenty-eight is getting up there. Are the rumours of your retirement true, Victor?”

Victor Nikiforov, six time World Championship gold medalist, had a moment just then. He felt the intense desire to get up from his seat and simply...walk out of the press release. Walk out of the building even. Leave Boston, leave the US — hell leave Russia if it meant never having to answer the same damn questions for the thousandth time. It was all so _stale,_ and suffocating, and if he were honest he really just wanted to go back to the hotel, curl up with some wine, and watch a film. Sighing, he clenched his eyes shut briefly trying to stave off a sudden headache.

His long-time coach noticed, thank god, and before Victor could lose his temper, he swooped in with a stern but polite “Viktor would like to make no comment at this time in regards to his career status, and would like to thank you for your time,” thus ending the god awful round robin of questions.

“Yakov, I could kiss you,” Victor muttered through his teeth as he plastered on one last smile for the cameras.

“Do it and I make you walk back to the hotel,” he muttered back, thick eyebrows deepening into his patented scowl. He stood alongside Victor as they shuffled their way out of the press room. They were almost to the door when his coach was halted with one last question:

“Mr. Feltzman! What about Yuri Plisetsky? Anything to say about his sudden disappearance after the Grand Prix Final?”

“No comment,” Yakov said, voice steely. His expression brokered no argument, and the crowd parted for him like the sea.

There once was a time when Victor would hang around and take pictures and sign autographs. Maybe he was getting too old, but whatever the case, he didn’t have the stomach for any more fake pandering, and gladly slipped out the side entrance with his coach as a veritable bulldozer.

It wasn’t until they got into a taxi that he felt like he could actually take a breath.

The relief was short lived, however, when he caught Yakov regarding him with a narrow, calculating look. He tried to hunch in on himself, and turned toward the window.

“Vitya...” he said, wearily.

“Yakov, you promised —”

“No, I know I said I wouldn’t bother you about your plans, but at least hear this from me.”

Victor sighed again, and faced his coach. His coach, who was more like a father to him than anything. “Yes, what is it?”

“I wanted to tell you...I understand what you were trying to tell me last year. I didn’t listen because I only thought about you as a skater, about your potential, and forgot who you are as a person. Watching you skate has always been my joy, however not if it is killing you. The Viktor I saw today was superb, as always, but your heart — _там нет света_ — you are dying inside.”

Victor blinked, stunned. “I thought I was the dramatic one,” he mumbled, trying for levity, and falling flat. He wasn’t the most comfortable with emotional conversations, and he shifted in his seat when Yakov only kept staring at him with that deep concern that was at odds with his normally austere demeanor.

He swallowed, and gave him a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, Yakov. I think I just need a vacation, you know? Some time to relax a little, find my groove again. Next season isn’t off the table just yet.”

“Hm,” Yakov grunted, frowning. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the matter — which Victor was eternally grateful. The quiet resumed, less strained than before, but still heavy.

“How _is_ Yura?” Victor said into the silence after a moment.

“He is finally skating again. He takes orders from Lilia, but he still hardly speaks.”

“Even to Beka?”

Yakov grunted again, neither confirming nor denying. He crossed his arms over his chest, grumbled something under his breath, and Victor knew he wouldn’t get anything else out of the old man.

His fingers itched to immediately pull out his mobile and text Otabek for a status update, but he knew it wouldn’t really amount to anything aside from a one word answer here or there. If he was lucky. The young Kazakh skater was another strong, silent type that had little patience for nonsense. Curiously, however, he made it his goal to start a friendship with none other than Russia’s persnickety ice kitten right before this year’s Grand Prix Final.

Victor was admittedly surprised, but happy that someone wanted to actually spend time with Yuri. He himself had tried to take Yuri under his wing, but the age difference between them made him out as a big-brother of sorts, one that was only good for lecturing apparently. But Otabek was closer to Yuri’s age, and when they hung out it wasn’t just about skating all the time. They could share interests, and simply be teenagers, and Victor could tell Otabek was one of, if not the only person, who was with Yuri just for _Yuri._ Something Victor was sure his younger protege never had before.

And...after Yuri’s grandfather died in January, Otabek was the only one that could get him to — well. Do anything, really. Eat, sleep, talk, take care of himself. Which was why it was a relief when Beka came to St. Petersberg to broaden his training. He claimed it was because of Madam Baranovskaya and her rigorous technique, but those closest to Yuri knew otherwise.

Something heavy toppled over in his chest, threatening to drag down his beating heart. This year was...painful in so many ways. With Yuri’s grandfather, and Christophe’s torn meniscus during the European Championships, Victor felt a little ashamed for feeling like the world was coming to an end, given that for some people it actually did. Now — even with Yakov’s oblique approval and reserved blessing to figure out his life — he still couldn’t help but wonder if deep down the whole world was weighing him up and finding him wanting. Or if it was only himself.

The rest of the cab ride back to the hotel Victor spent in silent self-loathing, his hands clenched tightly where they were burrowed deep in his jacket.

He and Yakov parted ways in the lobby, his coach heading for the hotel bar, a stormy expression on his wizened face. He clapped Victor on the shoulder and gave him a stony nod.

Victor made it to the elevator without running into his fellow competitors, which was a blessing but not entirely unexpected. Tonight was a night for celebration, and he knew people would ask after him and wonder why he wasn’t at the center of all the action. The medal in his coat pocket felt heavier all of a sudden, weighted with other peoples’ expectations, and he wondered how much flack he would receive if he skipped the banquet tomorrow and caught an early flight back to St. Petersburg.

 _Probably a lot,_ he mused and opened his hotel room.

Just before he contemplated flopping face first onto the bed and not moving for a good hour in a pathetic display of self-pity, his phone chimed. It was Otabek, and Victor scrambled to unlock his phone, a flutter of anxiety settling in his stomach and reminding him to snap out of his own petty thoughts.

There was no text, only the clip of a video. Confused, Victor hit play and watched as Yuri skated into frame.

His hair was a little longer than Victor remembered, all but obscuring his face. He obviously didn’t know he was being filmed as he was simply practicing figures. It was methodical, technically sound, however — there was something off about it. It took a moment to figure out what it was, but when he recognized it, he had to abruptly sit down on the edge of his bed.

Yuri Plisetsky was broken. And Victor’s breath caught painfully in his chest, because there right in front of him was the literal manifestation of the black dog lurking inside his own soul. Devouring him bit by aching bit.

If this was anything like Yakov was describing, no wonder he called it dying.

It was almost too painful to continue watching this familiar fiery spirit diminished to just a flickering ember, and Victor was seconds away from turning it off. Before he could however, the Yuri on the screen jerked his head up as if knowing what he was about to do. Victor’s stomach actually gave a guilty lurch before he remembered that such a thing was impossible. Still, those intense green eyes bored into the camera, face transforming from tepid indifference to boiling hot censure in a second.

“ _Какого черта?_ — Beka, seriously, shut it _off!”_ Yuri charged, furious and frustrated, and for the fist time in a long while — alive.

It was only for a second before the screen went black, but it was there, that undeniable spark of life simmering beneath. Victor was certain it was there simply because much like a tuning fork, a part of his own self he thought was dormant suddenly resonated high, and bright, and clear at the sight.

Nearly giddy, Victor watched the footage again, already making lists and plans in his head. He could feel the fugue falling away like the last of molting feathers. A new purpose was taking shape within him and breathing inspiration back into his fallow bones.

This could work, and if he could pull it off...well _what_ a surprise that would be!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Yuri on Ice. :D


	2. Vacation in Hasetsu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...or the chapter in which Victor means well but makes a hash of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! xxHoney

_In hindsight..._ Victor mused as he looked out the plane window, Yuri’s head heavy on his shoulder and snoring lightly. His eyes were still a little puffy from crying, though the teenager would never admit it. His mother had come to see him off at the airport, hugging her son tightly and putting on a brave face for Yuri. The boy, only sixteen, put so much on himself to be strong and provide for his family, and with his grandfather now gone...well. Victor couldn’t help but feel responsible for adding to that pressure especially recently. _In hindsight, maybe he could have gone about things just a tad differently._

Excitement or no, showing up at the rink back in St. Petersburg and declaring to all and sundry his retirement and subsequent embarkation onto coaching _before_ talking to Yakov — was probably not good.

And then announcing that his first student would be Yuri Plisetsky, and that they would take gold together at next season’s Grand Prix Final — _without_ asking or acknowledging said student was perhaps really, _very,_ not good.

And _then_ when said student flat out refused, Victor telling him that it was too late, and he already released a statement to the press was definitely...really quite bad.

Yuri just stared at him in shock, and it was the dawning of betrayal creeping into his expression that finally clued Victor in on his rather disastrous lapse in judgment. 

And then of course he had to go and make it worse by opening his big mouth.

“But Yura, they are already calling us The Russian Wonder Team!”

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise, then, when Yuri white with rage and possibly no little amount of fear, bolted from the rink as if the devil was after him.

“When I sent you the video, _this_ wasn’t how I thought you’d handle it,” Otabek said, giving him a steely glare before following in Yuri’s wake. The message was clear, though. Fix it, and fix it now.

A loud groan erupted from beside him, and Victor turned sheepishly around to face his coach. (Well, former coach as it were.)

“Vitya, _ты сумасшедший ублюдок_ — come,” Yakov said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his small office, “tell me what is going on in that thick skull of yours.”

“I should —”

“Otabek’s got him. Leave it,” he said in a tone that gave him little choice but to comply. Mila, stretching against the barrier, snickered when he passed her and he fought the childish urge to kick the one leg she was balancing on out from under her.

Yakov closed the door behind him, and took a seat in one of the chairs, arms folded expectantly over his chest. “Well? After all I’ve done, this is how you want to repay me?”

Victor grimaced, and shifted on his feet. “It’s not like that, Yakov.”

“Then what is it like, Viktor?”

“I need passion again. I need something to fight for,” Victor blurted much to his embarrassment seconds later. He held Yakov’s gaze though. “And I think Yuri needs it too. I might have already hit my peak, but I won’t have someone as gifted as him give up when he’s hardly even started. The only reason he didn’t win gold at the Grand Prix was because I was there. I know he has it in him.”

“Still as modest as ever, I see,” Yakov gruffed.

Victor refused to show how chagrined he actually felt. Instead he said: “You know I’m right.”

“Mhm. Perhaps,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Sit down, Vitya. Tell me your plan.”

Victor accepted the chair in front of Yakov with relief. He didn’t think about it before hand, but the danger of him losing Yakov’s advice and support would have bothered him more than he realized. Smiling, he then proceeded to tell his former coach about the ideas he had for Yuri’s short program, and about modifying his training to compensate for Yuri’s morphing physique, to which Yakov approved of and agreed.

“But first, I want to take him somewhere. A vacation or something. He needs to get away from St. Petersburg.”

“Moscow, maybe?”

“No. Somewhere out of Russia, even.”

“Especially with the press,” Yakov said knowingly, and Victor had the good grace to look guilty at this, adverting his eyes. After a moment the older man sighed in resignation, muttering to himself under his breath. “I think I have just the thing,” he said, getting to his feet and walking over to his small desk in the corner. After rummaging around in one of the messy draws for what seemed like forever, Yakov finally found what ever it was with a triumphant ‘aha!’ He ambled back over and tossed it to Victor.

“What’s this?” Victor said, looking down at the colorful tri-fold brochure sitting in his lap. The words _Yu-Topia Katsuki: Hot Springs and Inn_ were branded across the top in English, followed by Japanese. He opened it, and out fell a slip of paper which he caught before it hit the floor.

“Don’t you remember? Last year’s Grand Prix Final in Sochi. One of the final six, some Japanese boy. Handed out all these as some sort of sportsmanship thing. Said his family owned a spa or something.”

Victor looked down at the paper in his hand and saw that it was in fact a voucher for three days at said spa. He blinked.

“Why don’t I remember this?”

“Because you’re you,” Yakov deadpanned. “Anyway you told me to hold onto it for you, and I only just remembered it now.”

“But this was over a year ago! I don’t know if it’s still good!”

“Eh,” Yakov shrugged. “Show up and explain you come all the way from Russia for this. They probably won’t turn you away. Ask for the Japanese boy. Katsuki.”

Victor hummed, flipping through the brochure. “Katsuki...why don’t I remember him?”

“He dropped out at the last minute before the freeskate. No one knows why. Medical, was the rumor. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“Then he might not even be in...um...Haa-set-soo...anymore,” Victor said, sounding out the name. He’d never heard of the small town before. Or any town in Japan that wasn’t Tokyo or Sapporo. It was intriguing.

“Not my problem. Although, Vitya,” Yakov said catching his eye. “After your vacation, you leave the decision up to Yuri to come back to skating, okay? Don’t pressure him.”

“Of course!” Victor had said pasting on his most charming smile. He hadn’t intended to really listen to Yakov regarding that, planning on enticing Yuri back into the world of competitive figure skating by any means necessary for the three days they were in Hasetsu.

At least that was what he intended. Seeing Yuri and his mother clinging to each other, and trying to ignore the tears and quiet desperation coming from his young friend before they boarded was an image Victor wasn’t likely to forget.

Yuri shifted on his shoulder, huffing out a breath before mumbling and dropping back into sleep, and for once Victor decided to forget about his own agenda. Right now, Yuri just needed a friend, and a break. And if that was all Victor could accomplish, he would just have to live with that.

It would be fine.

They would be fine.

Even so...Victor was still glad he packed their skates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! Yuuri makes an appearance next chapter!


	3. The Gods are Laughing at You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous luck of Yuuri Katsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm reception this fic has already received! Your comments make my day!

“Like this, sensei?”

“Very good, Taki-chan!” Yuuri said to one of his youngest students. He attempted a cross stroke, and this time managed not to get tangled up in his skates. He ruffled Taki’s messy black hair. “Now go show Minami-kun.”

“Okay! Hey, senpai! Lookit!” the little boy shouted, zooming over to where Yuuri’s assistant, Kenjirou Minami stood instructing some of the older kids in twizzles. Yuuri smiled when Taki almost knocked the older boy off his feet, still not completely familiar with the concept of stopping. He observed them for a bit, feeling guilty about laying the load of this evening’s Skate-Club all on Minami, but he’d be lying if he said he was even remotely up to wrangling all fourteen of his rambunctious students by himself.

He turned and placed both hands on top of the barrier when his vision suddenly tunneled, the bright overhead lights taking on a gauzy haze. He bowed his head. Today was...not one of his better days.

“...ri? Yuuri?” came the sound of Yuuko’s voice, and curiously, she sounded like she was underwater. He looked up and saw her gazing at him in concern, and for a moment she looked like she was floating. Yuuri shook his head, and attempted to anchor himself back to solid earth.

“Mm? What? Yes?” Yuuri said, trying to sound chipper, and probably failing.

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuuko said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Yurri stood up straighter as irritation itched under his skin. _God_ he _hated_ that question.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Because you look like death warmed over —”

“Yuuko...”

“— and I told you that if you needed a break I could run Skate-Club for tonight.”

“But what about the girls?”

“My girls don’t look half as bad as you do right now, and they all have the chicken pox,” she said, cocking her hip and folding her arms across her chest. Yuuri grimaced in sympathy. Axel, Lutz, and Loop were a handful on the best of days so he could only imagine — wait.

“Then what are you doing here?” Yuuri said. It was his turn to be suspicious. “Did Mari send you to check up on me?”

Yuuko’s arms dropped to her sides, and she shifted on her feet. “No...I just...um...”

“She did! I knew it!” Yuuri exclaimed. God, save him from overprotective siblings.

“No she didn’t! I just forgot...um. Something. Earlier,” she insisted.

“You’re a horrible liar, Yuuko,” Yuuri said raising a shaking hand to rub at his eyes under the lenses of his glasses.

“Mari just worries,” Yuuko said, dropping the pretense. “Especially when you don’t answer your phone.”

He made an aggravated noise. Ever since this morning when he decided to skimp on breakfast due to a queasy stomach, she had been mother-henning at him all day. So much so that he actually shut his phone off for Skate-Club. “She’s worse than mom. I’m fine. _Really._ Go back home, and I’m sorry she made you come all the way down here.”

“I don’t mind, honestly Yuuri-kun,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Takeshi has the girls just fine. If you want I can stick around and give you a ride home.”

“No, thank you,” Yuuri said, softening. He wasn’t really irritated at her, he never could be. He didn’t know what he ever did to deserve such good friends. “We’re almost done here. But I think maybe Minami might want a lift. He has a final to study for.”

Yuuko smiled and nodded. “Sure thing.”

“Hey, Minami!” Yuuri called.

“Sensei?” he asked, shaking his signature lone streak of red hair out of his face.

“Finish up, and then Yuuko will give you a ride back, okay? Good work today.”

Yuuri nearly laughed when Minami’s face lit up at the praise. At first, the hero worship from the boy was uncomfortable, but over time it became rather endearing.

 _“Thank you, Katsuki-sensei!”_ he all but shrieked, causing Yuuri to wince. _Endearing, but still kind of annoying,_ he amended to himself. Minami turned and bellowed around the rink: “FREE SKATE!”

The kids cheered, and began to merge into one giant mob, rotating anti-clockwise around the rink. Some of them practiced what they had learned today, but the majority took the opportunity to just skate, and skate really fast. Minami sped up to the barrier, the toes of his skates banging against the side.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” he asked.

“No, I’ve got the rest,” Yuuri said. Already parents were trickling in and gathering their kids. He waved once more at Taki, smiling as the little boy skipped off with his older brother. “You just study hard and ace that bio test for me, alright? The world needs future doctors like you.”

Minami pressed his lips together, cheeks scarlet and eyes tearing with moisture. “I will! I will be the best doctor you’ve ever seen, Katsuki-sensei! Just you wait! I’m going to get a three-million percent on the test, you’ll see!” he said.

“Come on, then, _Doctor_ Minami,” Yuuko chuckled. “Those books aren’t going to study themselves.”

 _“Hai!”_ he said scrambling over the step and tugging off his skates. He was so eager, he ran out of the rink struggling to put on one of his sneakers, completely forgetting Yuuko — his ride — in the process.

Yuuko shook her head fondly. “Well I better go get him before he runs all the way home with only one shoe.”

“Yeah, probably,” Yuuri said with a small grin.

“Text me when you get home, alright? And call Mari back, for goodness sake!” She kissed his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, face red. He waved bashfully as she made her way out of the rink. _Still as pretty as ever,_ he thought, and turned to see off his remaining students.

When the last one was on her way out, jabbering excitedly to her grandma about doing her first sit-spin, Yuuri let himself slump, and stiffly headed to one of the bleachers where he kept his duffle. He plopped on the bench heavily, taking slow breaths to try and dispel the ringing in his ears. His joints ached with a deep exhaustion, and he cringed when he tried to wiggle his toes inside his skates. He could hardly feel them, and with trembling fingers he fumbled with the laces until they came apart. Just like he suspected, his ankles and feet were quite swollen, and he flexed them with a grimace.

Breathing a sigh borne partly of relief, and partly of resignation, Yuuri retrieved his phone and turned it on. While he waited for it to boot up, he slipped on his shoes, and gathered his things. The text alerts started in just as he was shutting off the lights and locking up Ice Castle, and he tried to keep count but gave up somewhere around fifteen.

Finally, the alerts stopped, and only then did Yuuri dare look at his messages. Mari had called eight times, but there were only two voice messages. He knew he wouldn’t ever bother to listen them, and with an amused huff he began scrolling through the texts.

_Mari 15:48_  
_> > did you take your pills?_

_Mari 15:58_  
_> > im going to assume you did because you know ill kill you if you didn’t_

_Mari 17:08_  
_> > did you eat lunch? you better have. or I will force feed you my fist_

He snorted. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he muttered to himself, falling into the familiar sibling banter they adopted even though she wasn’t there to actually hear him. He was about to just skip the rest of the messages and send a reply that he was on his way when another text popped up. It was a picture message from Mari. 

Curious, he opened it.

At first he had to squint to even make out the blurred mass on the screen. If he held it just far enough away from his face he could see that it was a dog. No...a brown poodle to be precise. In fact...he looked a lot like his dog Vicchan...but why was Mari sending him old photos of his dead dog? That was low, even for her. He scrolled up to where she obviously started texting him before sending Yuuko as reinforcements.

_Mari 18:06_  
_> > where are you? CALL ME IT’S URGENT_

_Mari 18:11_  
_> > seriously. I have some news you’ll want to hear_

_Mari 18:14_  
_> > it’s about poster boy. he’s here. Dad doesn’t recognize him at all which is hilarious imo_

_Mari 18:15_  
_> > OMG POSTER BOY HAS A FRIEND WHO LOOKS LIKE TAKAO_

Yuuri blinked down at his phone growing more confused by the moment. Who was Takao? And poster boy for that matter? What was going on? He kept reading, a small kernel of dread starting to form in his stomach.

_Mari 18:20_  
_> > he brought his dog, im going to try and take a picture when he’s not looking_

_Mari 18:25_  
_> > yuuri? seriously I’m getting concerned_

_Mari 18:28_  
_> > if you don’t answer me I’m sending Yuuko to kick your ass_

_Mari 18:41_  
_> > that’s it. i’m giving poster boy your room when he gets back from the hot spring_

_Mari 19:03_  
_> >1095_007.jpg_

_Mari 19:05_  
_> > ^^^ his dog. looks a lot like vicchan, which now I know why we got him_

Yuuri’s heart stuttered in his chest when the pieces began to click. 

His poodle, Vicchan...Victor. Only that couldn’t have been his Vicchan. He was much too big and — wait, poster boy? POSTER BOY?? As in the person that is literally plastered all over his bed room walls, _that poster boy??_ AS IN VICTOR NIKIFOROV? _AT YU-TOPIA KATSUKI???_

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. And–and Mari was going to...shit. Give Victor — Victor- _fucking_ -Nikiforov — his room. _**His.room.with.all.the.posters.**_

With the phone mashed to his ear, Yuuri started to run.

“Finally,” Mari said, answering on the fourth ring. “I knew something had to get your attention.”

“Mari! What the hell? Is this a joke?” he panted, whizzing around a street corner.

“Nope. Your skating crush is just finishing up in the bath. He looked tired. Probably wants to rest,” she teased.

“DON’T GIVE HIM MY ROOM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” he yelled, and all but flung his phone in his dufflebag, pushing himself to run faster.

Oh god. NO. How is this even possible? HOW is it possible that the literal God of Figure Skating is at his family’s onsen? Seriously. What did he do in a past life to deserve this utter torment?

No, no, no. Nonononononono —

Yuuri turned another corner, his legs burning, and nearly shouted in triumph when the inn came into view.

He burst through the gate, bolted up the steps, and practically banged through the front entrance. He hastily kicked off his shoes and threw down his belongings, sprinting once again in the direction of his room. He only felt a little bad that he completely ignored his mother in his quest to intercept Victor-stinking-Nikiforov from feasting his eyes upon the truly embarrassing shrine that was his room.

“Yuuri!” Mari called out as he jetted past her, pounding around the corner leading back to the smaller bedrooms. He could see his door, and from what he could tell, the light was still off so maybe —

At the last second, the door to his right slid open, and Yuuri crashed into a solid wall.

A solid wall that steadied him before he fell over.

 _“Gomen! Gomen’nasai —!”_ Yuuri started, gaze traveling up to see that the wall wasn’t a wall but a patron wearing one of the onsen’s green bath robes. He was about to apologize again when his eyes finally came to rest on the patron’s face.

There, half naked, cheeks rosy, arctic eyes sparkling in the dim light — was Victor Nikiforov.

“Oh, hello,” he said, smiling warmly. His hands, which were still around Yuuri’s upper arms, gave a gentle squeeze.

Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the tall Russian, his heart beating almost clean through his ribs.

“H-hello,” Yuuri said. His face was hot, and the lights behind Victor’s head shimmered, making him look like he was wearing a halo behind his beautiful silver hair, and — oh wait. Perhaps that wasn’t exactly normal.

Yuuri then had a moment when he realized that maybe his heart was beating just a little _too_ hard, and that perhaps there were things more embarrassing than Victor Nikiforov seeing his room, especially when the alternative was —

And before he could finish that particular train of thought, Yuuri fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. It was recently pointed out to me that in ch 1 when I alluded to Christophe, that he wouldn't actually be skating in the Four Continents, but rather in the European Championships. That has been amended, and since the whole figure skating world is relatively new to me, I am going to try and do my best with being as accurate as possible with the research I have. But if anything pokes you in the eye feel free to let me know as the story progresses. :D thanks you guys! xxHoney


	4. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since Victor Nikiforov himself was surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are grand. I got me muses flowing so I'm jumping aboard this creativity train while the iron's hot! (Holy idioms batman.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and your comments are simply lovely.

“Oh, hello,” Victor said to the young man currently in his arms. Victor smiled, and was instantly charmed by the blush painting his cheeks. His eyes grew wide, and the first thing Victor noticed was how striking they were — deep and expressive behind the frames of his glasses, and the color: warm chocolate brown at the center and then fading out into a rich copper. They were...well. Entrancing.

“H-hello,” he replied back in English. He held Victor’s gaze, his lashes trembling. 

Victor was about to introduce himself, when suddenly those eyes lost their focus and slid shut. The young man gasped, a small whuff of air leaving his parted lips, and alarmed, Victor had to strengthen his hold when the man all but collapsed.

“Oh!” Victor exclaimed, winding an arm around his companion’s waist to better keep them from both toppling to the floor in an ungraceful heap. His dark head fell forward, landing heavily against Victor’s collar bone, and Victor gathered him closer, backing them against the wall so he could use it to lower them both safely to the ground. “Yuri!” he shouted at the closed door across the hall from them. The young man stirred, a slight frown furrowing his brow, but he didn’t wake. “Yuri!”

 _“What?”_ Yuri said, slamming open his bedroom door. He looked down and arched a sardonic eyebrow at the sight of Victor cradling a strange man across his lap. “What did you do to him?”

“He passed out. Go get someone. Quickly!” Yuri didn’t have to be told twice, and ran out of the hall. 

Victor looked down, frowning in concern, and brushed the dark hair off of that clammy forehead. The man sucked in a sharp breath, eyes swimming open just briefly before fluttering shut once more. Victor cupped his jaw.

“Hey? Can you hear me?” he tried, shaking him a little. He bit his lip, and cursed the fact he knew hardly anything about first aid. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry too long because Yuri came jogging back with a woman behind him. He recognized her from earlier — Mari. She gave them their room assignments and kept trying to take pictures of Makkachin, and for what ever reason started calling Yuri, Yurio.

“What happened?” she asked falling to her knees, framing his charge’s face with her hands.

“He just collapsed, I don’t know,” Victor said, letting her take over. She obviously knew him, if her fond but troubled muttering was anything to go by.

“Yuuri?” she said loudly, shaking him like Victor tried to earlier. He didn’t know why but he felt compelled to keep a steadying hand at the crown of this man’s head, as if somehow that would help things.

 _“Nēechan?”_ he murmured, eyes finally opening. The woman’s stony expression softened, and she immediately slipped into quiet Japanese, asking him a series of low questions Victor didn’t understand. By the looks of things, Yuuri didn’t understand much of them either, and instead turned a little so he was on his side, head still resting in Victor’s lap.

“He fell asleep, _baka,”_ Mari said, shaking her head.

“Mari? What’s going on? Yuuri came running in here like he was possessed not too long ago and — oh, Yuuri!”

“Mom, it’s alright,” Mari said, standing to take the hand of Mrs. Katsuki, the owner of the inn. “I think he just...exhausted himself, is all.”

“Oh my poor boy,” Mrs. Katsuki said. She turned her eyes to Victor, giving him a watery smile when she noticed the methodical strokes of Victor’s fingers through the hair at the back of Yuuri’s head. “Good thing you were here,” she said with a knowing twinkle.

Victor blinked. _How did that get there?_ Embarrassed, he took his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a problem,” he chuckled nervously.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yuri finally blurted. He looked ruffled even though he was trying to remain aloof, the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled over his head.

 _“Yura!”_ Victor barked, surprising himself a second later with how sharp he sounded. He hardly ever raised his voice, and going by Yuri’s saucer-like eyes, the boy was surprised as well. He hunched in on himself, chewing on the drawstring of his hoodie, a tell of his when he was feeling anxious. Victor sighed, slightly guilty, not entirely sure where the sudden and visceral protective urge came from. However, it would probably do them both a favor if Yuri was given permission to leave. “Please, take Makkachin for a walk, he’s in my room and I can tell by the whining he’s getting nervous.”

“Yeah, alright,” Yuri said meekly, averting his eyes and slipping into Victor’s room. In a matter of seconds he was out leading Makkachin, a chagrined yet relieved look on his face.

“Sorry about him,” Victor said, bringing his hands to clench awkwardly at his sides lest they do more hair fondling without his permission. The young man — Yuuri. Yurri Katsuki — breathed deeply and snuggled against the tops of his thighs. Victor could feel a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he dropped it when he noticed Mari glaring at him with her arms crossed.

“We should probably get him off the floor and into bed,” Mari said flatly. Her eyes gave Victor a once over. “Do you mind?”

“Hm?” Victor looked down, confused at first. “Oh! Yes, of course I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, dear. Such a relief our Yuuri has such good friends,” Mrs. Katsuki said, and hurried down to the end of the hall to open the door.

Victor merely nodded, and then set about the task of coaxing a barely coherent Yuuri into a sitting position. Then with an arm under his legs, and one around his back, Victor lifted the other man up. Yuuri was a dead weight, his brow slightly feverish where it pressed into the side of Victor’s neck.

“Just through there,” Mari instructed, following behind them with a pensive look.

Victor entered the tidy bedroom, and set his charge gently down on the narrow bed where Mrs. Katsuki was waiting with the blankets turned. She immediately began to fuss over him.

“Do you need me to do anything?” Victor offered, watching with an unexplained pang at the tender way she removed his glasses and set them on the messy bedside table. 

Feeling like he was intruding slightly, Victor's gaze wandered around the rest of the room. He saw a few posters he instantly recognized, to be sure, but really what was most fascinating to him was the potted cactus sitting on the writing desk. It just seemed so out of place, yet so... _at home_ for some reason. Victor always went for the minimalist look, not really bothering with too many homey decorations. Because of his capricious nature, he never really settled somewhere for long and didn’t see the point. This bedroom, though. It was lived in, cozy, cluttered, and utterly charming. He caught himself smiling again.

“No, thank you, dear. You’ve been a big help,” Mrs. Katsuki said, and patted his clasped hands. “Mari, can you go get me his special socks?”

“I’ll go get them,” Mari nodded, and Victor took that as his cue to leave. 

Before he could make it back to his room, however, Mari stopped him.

“Hey, Russia,” she said.

He turned to her, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Listen...I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the posters thing,” she said, her usual confident exterior diminished to something small and contrite. “You see, I think it’s sort of my fault he worked himself up like that, and...just. If you run into him can you not make a big deal?”

“A big deal?” Victor said.

“Yeah. I mean it’s pretty obvious you’re his hero and — I’m rambling and he wouldn’t like me saying anymore. But, anyway. I’d appreciate it. And thank you. For helping him,” Mari said hurriedly, and set off at a fast pace down the corridor.

Victor was left staring after her, a hand brought up to his face in contemplation. _Hero?_ He had many fans, yes. Several admirers, and social media followers, and sure, there were people who generally wanted to either _be_ him or _own_ him, but…

A hero?

He never knew he was considered as a hero to somebody. Anybody really. The realization was...unexpected.

So unexpected that Yura found him standing in the same position — just staring at the bedroom door at the end of the hall, finger tap, tap, tapping against his lips — when he came back from walking Makkachin.

“So is that other Yuuri guy going to keel over, or what?” he scoffed. Victor went to chastise him again, but held back when he regarded Yuri. 

He looked cold as ever, that impenetrable mask of indifference firmly back in place, however...there was a certain set to his shoulders, and the fact he was still playing with his mangled drawstring, that told a different story. He didn’t look it, but Yuri was concerned, even if it simply was a matter of witnessing something so shocking for the first time. He himself remembered seeing his drunk uncle stone cold pass out in front of him at the tender age of ten, and it utterly traumatized him. Whatever the case, Victor decided not to say anything, and instead nodded.

“He’ll be okay. Apparently just exhaustion,” Victor said.

“Lame,” Yuri replied. “I’m going to bed,” and with that, he handed over Makkachin’s leash and stomped off to his room.

Victor stood in the hallway a moment more until Makka started snuffling at his palm. “What is it, boy?”

Makkachin whined, lifting his front paw, and pushed at Victor’s leg. He got the hint, and opened the door to his room. Makka didn’t immediately follow him, though. Instead he stayed where he was, glancing down the hallway where his owner was previously staring. He whined again.

“I know, _мой симпатичный._ I know.”

That night, Victor hardly slept. Instead, he spent hours on the internet, looking up everything about the figure skater, Katsuki Yuuri.


	5. Saturday Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. The kudos and comments I've got from you all are incredible. Totally unrealated, but, every time I look at the word kudos in my inbox I keep changing it to "katsudos". So thank you all for your little pork cutlet katsudos. I'm sobbing. T.T ily

Yuuri woke as if emerging through a thick layer of molasses. His head hurt, and his eyelids felt gummy, and when he tried to move his legs he noticed that he was wearing his compression socks. He groaned, rubbing his face into his pillow.

A dip to the mattress, and a gentle and familiar hand through his hair prevented him from immediately falling back to sleep, however. He cracked open an eye.

 _“Otōsan,”_ he mumbled, tongue thick with sleep and disuse.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad said, brushing his hair off his forehead, ruffling it slightly, and then flattening it back down. Yuuri couldn’t help but giggle when the strands tickled behind his ears. “What awful bed hair you have.”

“Gee, thanks,” he slurred. “Wha’ time izzit?”

“Still early,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m here to give you your dose, and then you can go back to sleep. Sound good?”

“Mhm,” Yuuri said, lifting himself up so he could take his pills and a sip of water.

“All set?”

“Mhm,” Yuuri said again, burrowing back under the covers.

“Mari will be here in about an hour with lunch,” his dad whispered, kissing his forehead.

Yuuri was already half way gone to sleep before his dad even left the room. Just on the heels of unconsciousness, however, he had a niggling feeling he was forgetting something…

* * *

When Yuuri woke up for the second time, it was in the middle of a full blown panic attack.

“Oh...my...god!” he said between breaths, shooting up to a sitting position as the night before came flooding back.

“Annnnd there’s our Sleeping Beauty,” came a sarcastic voice from across the room. He couldn’t make out who it was due to the ringing in his ears, the dark spots in his vision, and, oh yeah, the sheer concentration it took to _keep breathing oxygen._

“F-f-fuck!” he gasped, knotting his fingers in his hair and pulling — _hard._ He hardly ever cursed out loud, and this more than anything was what probably clued Mari (he could tell it was Mari now, it had to be, the snarky jerk) in on the seriousness of his predicament, because she was at his side in an instant.

“Hey, now. None of that,” she said in a firm but kind voice. She gripped his wrists and eased his hands away from where they were torturing his scalp. “You’re safe. Mom, Dad, and I are all safe. We’re at the onsen and it’s Saturday. The sakura trees bloomed early this year. A Triple Lutz has a base score of six points.” He sucked in a breath that was somewhat easier. This was a routine they did whenever he had an episode in the past. She would list random, solid facts his chaotic brain could latch onto until he calmed down. It had been a while since they did this, but it was familiar, and it was already starting to work.

“V-Victor?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

“No,” he whimpered, and the realization that it wasn’t all just a crazy dream was nearly enough to send him into paroxysms again. Mari simply pulled him to her and wrapped him in a hug. And if he shed a few tears, well she was good enough not to say anything while he mastered control of his breathing.

“Hey,” she said after a few minutes when the storm inside him seemed to be passing, “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he murmured, rubbing his wet cheek against her shoulder.

“It is, though,” she said sitting back from him. She pulled her sleeve down, and wiped the tears from his other eye before handing him his glasses. “I shouldn’t have messed with you like that.”

He looked down at his lap, folding and unfolding his glasses for lack of anything to say. He immediately wanted to argue that he wasn’t some fragile thing made of glass, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? Just another reason he detested Wilson’s disease. It not only made him frail in body, but also in mind at times. It was _hateful._

Mari sighed. “Here, get comfy. I have lunch,” she said retrieving a tray from his desk. “Mom made katsudon,” she smiled.

Yuuri scooted so his back was against the wall, and crossed his legs so Mari could set the tray on his lap. There was a small portion of his favorite dish — about a fourth of what he would usually eat, and for that he was grateful — green tea and a small bowl of beef broth, all to settle his stomach from the medicine.

“Thank you,” he said, slipping on his glasses.

“You’re welcome. And you better eat all of it,” Mari said, pulling his desk chair up and sitting in it so she was facing him.

“You’re going to watch me?” Yuuri said.

“You bet I am.” 

Yuuri rolled his eyes, taking up his chopsticks. Silence settled around them, but it was less awkward than he was expecting. He desperately wanted to ask about Victor, but at the same time was dreading what she might say about the whole thing.

“He’s staying until Tuesday morning,” Mari said, practically reading his mind. Yuuri froze with the chopsticks hovering in front of his face, a piece of pork plopping inelegantly back into the bowl. His stomach roiled.

“Who?” he said, his voice high and rusty.

Mari leveled him a look that clearly said, _‘don’t be an idiot.’_

“What is he doing here, anyway?” Yuuri said, pushing his food away.

“I don’t know. But he showed up with one of those homemade coupons Dad made a while back,” she said, pushing his bowl back toward him.

Yuuri listlessly poked at his katsudon. “I knew those were a dumb idea.”

“Maybe not,” Mari said, and Yuuri looked up at her. There was a cryptic edge to her voice, and Yuuri narrowed his gaze. Before he could ask her what she meant, she stood up and ruffled his hair. “Eat your lunch.” And with a smugness that made him suspicious, she sauntered out of his room.

Yuuri sighed, and did as he was told.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Yuuri trying to work up the courage to leave his room. He made up excuses to stay in, like organizing his desk and replying to Phichit’s extremely long-winded email and subsequent video message. When that was done, he pulled up the latest chapter of the novel he was working on and wrote three whole sentences before calling it a job well done and then — he organized his desk for a second time. At one point, he found himself just laying on the floor absently gazing around his room. He thought about taking down his posters, wondering for a long moment if perhaps he was too old for such idol worship, but he couldn't bring himself to do so in the end.

Finally, after it was clear that he really would have to leave his room eventually, Yuuri changed into his track pants and a hoodie, and grabbed his skating gear. Ice Castle was open later on Saturdays, however, this week there was Hasetsu’s longstanding Sakura Festival, and he knew the rink would probably be deserted.

Peeking his head out around the edge of his door, he checked to see if the hall was empty. The doors on either side were closed and quiet, and taking care to be as catlike as possible, Yuuri hurried across the hard wood, avoiding all the squeaks like a ninja.

Feeling impressed with himself, he was almost at the front door before Mari stopped him by throwing a towel at his head and making him promise to be back for dinner.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, and set out for the rink.

The evening was cool and crisp, and fragrant with blossoms, and he felt a great deal calmer than he had all day.

The rink was waiting for him like an old friend, and the sound of blades on the ice was healing in a way medication never could be.

He breathed deep, hearing the piano music playing out in his head. With his hands held out in front of him, he grasped at that elusive — _thing_ in front of him, that thing he craved above all else — and he brought it into himself, into his heart, into his soul. 

He tilted his head back, feeling it fill him, flood him, transform him, and then...

...he _skated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in the middle of a panic attack is not very fun at all. One of the things about Wilson's disease, is because of the excess copper the body is unable to filter out, sometimes the brain's chemistry goes a little wonky. In this story, some of Yuuri's struggles with depression and anxiety stem from this.


	6. Saturday Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Yurio was up to on Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap guys, my power has been out for two days thanks to a freak snow storm so I am uploading this at the local library. (knoweldge is pwer guyz im surrounded by somush knowerkerldge)
> 
> Anyways I hope you guys are well, and hopefully there will be more to come in the future. Again thanks for your comments and love and katsudos. 
> 
> xxHoney

Yuri Plisetsky did not _do_ vacations.

Period. End of story.

It was all a waste of time in his opinion. Why spend money to go to a place just to say you’ve gone to somewhere you’ve never been, and then take pictures of random buildings with boring histories? And the food, for another matter. He liked eating what he was used to, and wasn’t really big on expanding those horizons, especially when it involved something weird looking. In fact, any time he traveled anywhere for competitions and whatnot, he usually just stayed at the hotel, preferring to focus on his skating. Part of it was he was never old enough to really appreciate the varied cultural night life, and also it was partly because he just...didn’t like most people.

His text alert chimed in the dark, the glow casting eerie shadows on unfamiliar walls. He knew who it was, though, and that gave him a small comfort at waking up in a foreign place.

Yuri found himself thinking of Barcelona like he often did during moments when the world wasn’t quite awake or asleep. He wasn’t sentimental, as a rule, but he couldn’t help but think...fondly of his time there during last year’s GPF.

With a smile he would practically murder anyone who was witness to it, he rolled over and plucked his phone from the table beside his bed. 

_Beka 06:14_  
_> > What is more powerful than God_  
_more evil than the devil_  
_a poor man has it_  
_a rich man doesn’t need it_  
_and if you eat it you die?_

Yuri snorted.

  
_Sent 06:15_  
_do you even sleep? <<_  


_Beka 06:16_  
 _> > Do you yield?_

  
_Sent 06:16_  
_never. <<_  


He grinned even wider, and thought for a moment.

  
_Sent 06:18_  
_nothing. nothing is the answer. <<_  


There was a few minutes of silence in which Yuri could gleefully picture Otabek’s indignant face. Often, Yuri would take ages to solve a riddle, but sometimes he would get one almost instantly. He never asked for the answer though, and Yuri wasn’t sure what frustrated Otabek more.

_Beka 06:22_  
_> > Very well. It seems I have been too easy on you._

  
_Sent 06:22_  
_go to bed, you gargoyle. <<_  


_Beka 06:23_  
 _> > Enjoy your vacation. Then come back._

Yuri sighed, shutting off his screen. That’s right. _Vacation._ Ugh. The only thing worse than ‘vacation-ing’ was doing it with someone like Victor. He was more like a kid than a grown man, and the biggest flake Yuri ever met. He wanted this vacation as an opportunity to _bond_ as coach and student. Which was the biggest, most frustrating — when Yuri didn’t even know if he wanted to return to competitive skating anyways! He punched his pillow just thinking about it, imagining that it was Victor’s stupid face.

 _Then come back,_ Beka had told him. He meant more than just Saint Petersburg, Yuri knew. They argued about it before he and Victor left, in fact. Otabek wouldn’t even hear of him talking about alternatives or excuses, and didn’t even see him off to the airport, which hurt more than Yuri would ever admit. He was stubborn that way. Yuri punched the pillow one more time, but it was half-hearted at best.

Ugh.

He looked at the time. It wasn’t even seven am yet, and he was bored, and already wanting to go home. He knew Victor was a late sleeper, so it probably wouldn’t even be until noon until they left the inn, and even then what would they _do?_ They had nothing in common aside from skating, and Yuri did NOT want to talk about that, and the whole thing would just be awkward and just — uuuggggghhh.

He sat up a little when a thought popped into his head. Who said he and Victor actually _had_ to spend the vacation together anyways? 

A plan forming in his head, Yuri snatched up his phone and Google searched things to do in Hasetsu. There was some sort of festival going on, which Yuri made sure to steer clear of at all costs. No doubt it would be chalked full of people. He searched out places that would likely be devoid of crowds, and put together a tentative list of potential places to pass the time. There was a local library, for one, where he could probably spend a few hours surfing the internet, and a free museum that would probably be boring, but he knew Beka would like to hear about it. He was one of those weird people who actually paid attention in history class.

Hasetsu also had an ice skating rink not too far from the inn. Yuri bit his lip and bookmarked the page, trying not to think too much about it either way, and set about getting dressed.

He threw his laptop in his backpack, flipped his hood up, and scribbled a quick note for Victor. He left it with that weird chick at the front with the tie-dyed hair, asking her to deliver it when he woke up.

“Anything you say, Yurio,” she said with a smirk, and he glared daggers at her.

The library was empty which was nice, but surfing the web was only entertaining for so long. After about an hour he gave up, and wandered up and down the aisles, picking up books based on their covers, given he couldn’t read the words anyway. Although, he ended up finding a whole section of backwards comic books, and he managed to kill some time leafing through quite a number of them.

When the library exhausted its interest, Yuri left in search of lunch. There were many restaurants, especially this close to the town center, but Yuri always felt awkward about eating in a restaurant by himself, so he stopped at a stand and ordered something that looked like pirozhki. He sat on a bench and ate it, watching people idly walk by.

A lot of families were out and about. Probably typical of a Saturday. They were probably all going to that fair-thing. He chewed, spotting couples and school children in uniforms milling about — but it was the little black haired boy tugging along an elderly man that made him pause. The gleam in the old man’s eye, and the fond smile he gave the energetic little boy made the food in Yuri’s stomach congeal and settle like a stone.

He threw the rest of his lunch in the trash. It didn’t taste anything like pirozhki anyway.

On his way to the museum, he got a text from Victor asking where he was and that they should meet up, and — _oh, hey did you hear about the Sakura Festival, doesn’t that sound fun??_ — and Yuri wanted to shoot something.

He fired off a quick reply saying he’d be back in the evening, and stuffed his phone in his pocket on silent.

The day was still early, so Yuri took the long way to the museum, cutting through a dog park, and stopping by to look at a fish pond.

It turned out that the museum was way more cool than Yuri was expecting. It had a huge section on military history, and several display cases of ancient weaponry. He took several photos of different swords and throwing knives, and even deigned to snap a selfie of himself standing next to a samurai mannequin in full regalia. He would have stayed there the rest of the day, had the kind museum curator not told him the museum was closing early because of that damn festival.

And so, Yuri was back to square one, still needing to find something to occupy his time, lest he return to the inn and run into Victor.

With a sigh, he open up the browser on his phone, pulling up the bookmark he saved for that skating rink. It might be nice just to skate around a bit. _No jumps or anything,_ he quickly reassured himself, his heart rate picking up at the thought of even attempting anything. He hadn’t been in the air ever since…

Snapping himself out of that train of thought, Yuri headed in the direction of Ice Castle before he could change his mind.

* * *

There were only two other people in the rink when Yuri got there, and after about twenty minutes they headed out, leaving him the whole of the ice to himself.

It was nice, Yuri admitted, not having all those eyes watching him, expecting — always expecting him to be good, great, no — _perfect._

He was able to get up to speed a few times, and practiced a few combination spins that he especially favored, but mostly he just did methodical laps around the edge, letting the familiar hush of the ice settle within him.

The peace was too good to be true, when after a while another skater joined him. The rink was big enough, so Yuri stuck to his side and kept his head down as he practiced carving figures into the ice.

Pretty soon, however, the other skater started to catch his eye. It was obvious that he was a practiced skater, maybe even a professional, and he was working on what was clearly a long program. Yuri watched, coming to a standstill on the ice.

There was something about the way he skated, even though none of the jumps were above a double, that was captivating. It was like...although there wasn’t music, Yuri could hear it by the way he moved. He heard the graceful decrescendo in the Ina Bauer, and the accelerando in the skater’s step sequence, and the fortissimo affettuoso, and molto espressivo, and con spirito, con fuoco, dolce, dolce, _con amore._ Back and forth on the crystal ice, as if he was the only one in the world, as if he was simultaneously carefree and declaring the most important thing in the universe for all to see and hear. As if nothing mattered besides blades, and frost, and that cold mirrored surface.

And then...the skater just. Stopped. 

It was jarring, and Yuri was jolted back to the present, staring into two wide, brown eyes from across the rink. He recognized the skater now as the guy from the inn — The Other Yuri — and he quickly turned his gaze back to his feet, cheeks warming. Through the curtain of his blonde hair he could see the other skater regard him thoughtfully before cooling down with a few laps around his half of the rink. Then he made his way to the bleachers, gathered his things, and Yuri was alone once more.

He stood in the center of the ice, a familiar low buzz at the base of his spine. It took him a moment to place the particular feeling, but when he did he sucked in a sharp breath. It was the feeling of anticipation he always likened to competitions, that electric current of being caught in a swift stream, of taking that first leap off a cliff, of — _flying._

With a stillness he hadn’t felt in a long time, he closed his eyes, going over the skater’s routine in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t the grandest long program he’d ever seen, but there was something about it that just wouldn’t leave him alone. He could do a routine like that in his sleep, practically. In fact, it would have been better if there was a few quads in there. It was probably meant to, judging by the end jump which was only a triple toe-loop.

He wondered, though. What if…?

And Yuri took off, his borrowed rental skates slicing the ice with purpose once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll see what Victor was up to on Saturday. ;)


	7. Saturday Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray another chapter! I have been busy friends. I am moving this Sunday so whoo hoo! I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up because of it, but I hope you like this one. Thanks for reading, all!
> 
> xxHoney

Admittedly, perhaps staying up past two in the morning when one was already jet lagged, wasn’t one of Victor’s smartest decisions.

He woke disoriented, with his phone completely dead and leaving some interesting indentations on his face. Reaching around for his charger, Victor plugged it in and waited for it, and his brain to come back online. 

When he registered the time, he panicked.

 _“Twelve thirty-nine??”_ he yelped, and scrambled out of bed. Or at least tried to. His foot got tangled in the bed sheets, and he twisted his ankle, causing him to land hard on his backside with a loud ‘oof!’

Makkachin whined, poking his head from over the edge of the bed. He looked down at his owner with an unimpressed snuff.

“Makkaaa,” Victor groaned. “The whole day is already gone. I am a terrible coach, so far.” Makkachin barked in agreement. He glared. “ _Предатель._ ”

Victor sat up, freed his legs from the blankets, and stood with a wince when his ankle gave a slight twinge. It was minor though, so he didn’t let it bother him and rushed to the door, intending to find Yuri and beg his forgiveness for being so lame on their first official day as (potential) trainee and coach.

He slid open his door, and was startled when a folded piece of paper fell out of the jamb. Frowning, he picked it up.

It was a note scratched in familiar messy Russian on a piece of the inn’s stationary. It said Yuri was out sight seeing without him, and abashed, Victor stared across the hall at his companion’s closed door. It was just a door, but the symbolism of it — cut off, cold, remote — was prevalent. A coil of dread unfurled in his gut, and he felt like he had lost the battle before it had even begun.

“Hey there, Russia.”

Victor turned his head and saw Mari headed in his direction, obviously having just come from the room at the end of the hall.

“Good morning,” he said with an attempt at a smile.

“Afternoon, rather,” she said with a smirk. “You found the note, I see.”

Victor looked down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Oh. Yes.” His gaze wandered back to the end bedroom, his mind steadily going over the events of last night once again. “How is Yuuri?” he inquired softly.

Mari sighed, crossing her arms over her chest in a move that was uncharacteristically vulnerable on someone like her. “He’ll be alright.”

Victor nodded, brushing his fingers over his lips in thought. Mari, however, didn’t immediately return to her duties, and instead continued to look at him expectantly. She was waiting, he realized. Waiting for him to ask the questions that were no doubt clouding his expression.

There was a beat in which Victor debated with himself on whether the questions he wanted to ask were too invasive or not. After all, the scene he inadvertently stumbled into yesterday was a family matter, and no doubt a sensitive issue. Yuuri deserved his privacy and more importantly, his dignity, and the last thing Victor wanted was to intrude. However, Mari raised her eyebrows, her expression somehow open to concession — as if she was silently giving him permission to ask one question, and one question only.

Really, though. After all his research last night into the professional history of Japan’s top figure skater, after watching this bright young man skate on the ice with such poise and elegance, there was only one question he wanted to know…

_What was the reason the ice was robbed of such talent? Such passion? Please let there be another reason. Something fixable. Please give me hope that the universe is not this cruel._

“Is...Yuuri’s ailment...the only reason he left?”

Mari’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “That’s not was people usually ask,” she said, regarding him. He wanted to fidget under her intense scrutiny, but he managed to hold her gaze. Finally, she seemed to come to a conclusion, and gestured with a tilt of her head. “Come with me.”

Curious, Victor followed her, Makkachin at his heels, as she took them through the main lounge and into another small hallway with a storage room. When she opened the door, she motioned for Victor to go in ahead of her before she stepped in and turned on the lights. Victor gasped, staring around the small space in shock.

Aside from a few cardboard boxes, and some wooden chairs in dire need of repairing, the majority of the storage room was full of trophies, and medals, and awards — dozens of them. A stack of certificates in black frames sat propped up on the floor, gathering dust, and a pair of black skates with gold blades hung from a nail by their knotted laces. 

At first glance, Victor would think it was a shrine, but the theory wasn’t right. For one, it was all stashed away in what was practically a cupboard, and two, there wasn’t any care as to how it was arranged. It wasn’t meant for display purposes, but more haphazardly moved out of the way. He couldn’t understand it, and when he looked back at the skates, they reminded him of how strangled he himself suddenly felt.

“When my brother came back after the last Grand Prix...” Mari began, her voice somber, “he didn’t want to see any of this stuff any more. His illness...has taken so much from him, and when it took his career, he just...wanted to give up.”

Victor bowed his head, eyes closing. _The world was heartless...so, utterly heartless…_

“I am glad you kept these things, in the end,” Victor whispered. Makkachin sat by him and pushed against his leg.

“No, you misunderstand,” Mari said, and Victor’s head snapped up in confusion. “Neither my parents nor myself wanted anything to do with discarding his skating things. We told him if he wanted them gone, he’d have to be the one to do it himself, and in the end...well, you see in the end he couldn’t bring himself to completely get rid of them either.”

Victor gaped, taking in the room in another light. The awards and trophies, they weren’t just crammed in a box, but in fact arranged on a set of shelves, albeit rather half-heartedly. And the skates...they were still preserved, and in good condition, the laces almost brand new. Instead of looking lynched, they now looked exalted, held high off the wood floors, gold blades polished and pointing in the same direction as if waiting to be donned once more. These objects — memories — weren’t neglected, but rather...tucked away. There was a certain closure to it all.

“So you see,” Mari continued, “there’s hope. My brother’s illness may have changed his path, but it didn’t extinguish the flame completely. It’s the same for your brother, too.”

“My brother…?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yurio,” she said with a smile.

“He’s not actually my brother.”

“He is in every way that counts. I don’t know you very well, but I can see my own brother in Yurio, and I can see myself in you. So here I am, offering advice if you want it.”

Victor swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “What do I do, then? How do I make him...not broken?”

Mari huffed a breath. “There isn’t a cure, or anything. You just. Be there. Even if it’s something as simple as watching him try to figure out his own damned heart. Eventually, they will come to their own conclusions. Things have a funny way of working out in the end.”

“So...you’re saying...do nothing?” Victor said slowly.

She shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of her purple headband and a lighter out of her pocket. “Yep. Just be there.”

After a beat Victor groaned in agitation, one hand smacking against his forehead. “Do you realize how _difficult_ that is for someone like me?”

Mari laughed, and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said, clicking off the light.

“Some advice.”

“Better than a fortune cookie,” she rejoined.

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for showing me this,” he said, in all seriousness. She nodded, taking the cigarette from her lips.

“I know why he likes you,” she said, that contemplative look back in her eye. “He always said you were kind.”

Victor didn’t know what to say to that, and instead grinned at her. “So, Ms. Katsuki Mari, any more advice? Particularly on how to be a supportive elder brother on vacation in a foreign city?”

“Well, you’re already at the best travel destination in Hasetsu, but you could always check out the Sakura Festival.”

* * *

Victor idled around the crowds of people milling about in the town square. He stared down at the screen of his phone, his fried snack on a bamboo skewer forgotten as he read the words in the latest eloquent text from his young companion.

_Yura 13:52_  
_> > not interested. turning off my phone. see you back at the inn l8r_

“I’m trying to be supportive, here, but you are making it very hard, Yura!” he said, scolding his phone, pointing the skewer at the screen like a miniature sword. He received some very interesting looks at this, but he was so frustrated he didn’t really care. Grumbling, he took a bite of the doughy sweet, and chewed as he contemplated what to do next. _Was he really just supposed to do nothing and hope that Yuri would figure out his...heart, or whatever?_

Victor’s phone pinged with an alert. He unlocked the screen and saw it was a notification from Instagram. Apparently, Yura _didn’t_ turn off his phone (the little liar) given he just uploaded a picture of himself standing next to a samurai. It seemed he also didn’t check the settings of the post, because the location tag popped up attached to it, some local museum, and Victor whooped in triumph.

“I got you now!” he said, whirling on the spot. In his eagerness, he didn’t notice the slightly raised surface of the walking path, until his foot slipped off, ankle wrenching painfully, and he landed on the ground. 

He groaned. People were openly staring at the crazy foreigner, now. But the worst of it was he even dropped his snack.

Trying to rally his remaining dignity, Victor limped over to one of the metal benches scattered around the square. He sat heavily, shaking out his throbbing ankle. That was twice now, and it was irritating because Victor was particularly known for his grace and poise. He was hardly ever clumsy. Maybe it was a sign?

A soft breeze picked up, and a gentle flurry of pink petals drifted down from the canopy above him like snow. They landed in his hair, and on his shoulders, their fragrance sweet and somehow calming. He looked down and spotted a whole blossom, pristine and full sitting by his shoe. He picked it up and held it in the palm of his hand, marveling at its simple beauty. The wind started to pick up again, causing the blossom to lift slightly. He could trap it with his fingers, preventing it from blowing away, but if he did that, the delicate petals might be bent in his haste to hold on to it. In fact, it was a miracle it wasn’t trampled already from lying on the ground.

Unbidden, Mari’s words came back to him.

_“These things have a funny way of working out in the end.”_

Victor didn’t really believe in fate, but let the blossom go with the next gust. It swirled in the air, and he tracked it until it landed a few paces away from him. For a moment, he feared it would be crushed anyway, and regretted his decision. Just before it could succumb to its fate, however, a little girl in a dress as pretty and pink as the flowers, slipped her hand out of her mother’s, and scooped up the fragile blossom. Victor watched as she brushed it against her nose with a smile, showing her mother. The woman caressed her daughter’s cheek, knelt, and pinned the blossom in the little girl’s hair. The pair hugged and laughed, and then went on their way, and Victor watched from his bench, astonished.

After a long moment of staring blankly, mouth slightly open, Victor’s eyes slowly traveled upwards. It was true, he didn’t believe in fate, but maybe that deserved a reconsideration. For the second time that day, the symbolism was not lost on him.

“Okay, fine,” he said to the sky. “We’ll do it your way.”

He rose to his feet, shook out his unruly ankle, and let the wind guide him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to originally end with Victor at Ice Castle, but that whole thing deserves its own separate chapter. Hopefully I can do it justice. Your comments and kudos are wonderful. xoxo


	8. Parallax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor finally, _officially_ meet. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys! I know it's been a bit on this story, and I kind of dropped off with those nice regular updates. My life is generally unpredictable and kind of crazy, but I haven't abandoned this story! Your lovely comments are wonderful, and I love each and every comment and katsudos! <3

Following the wind was a lot easier said than done, especially when there wasn’t any wind twenty minutes after Victor decided to let the fates guide him. That was okay though. He likened the whole experience as a metaphor, anyway, and decided to just take in the sights. He was on vacation, after all.

After a while of leisurely meandering around the colorful festival, his thoughts turned inward like they were wont to do. It was rare, these moments, when he actually gave himself permission to slow down and reflect.

Victor took a deep breath. 

_Life._ A gale of laughter caught his attention, and he turned toward the sound. A group of school children run past him, giggling and chasing each other under the golden afternoon light.

He exhaled.

 _Love._ A couple drifted past him, hands entwined like willow branches, eyes only for each other. The sakura boughs, heavy with blossoms, seemed to genuflect in deference as the lovers passed by.

The Two _Ls._ They were all around him, and it had been a great while since Victor acknowledged these two fundamental forces that made up the universe.

Unbidden, familiar words from one of his fonder memories swam to the surface of his mind.

_“Life and love are not potatoes, one cannot throw them out the window, Vitya.”_

It was rare of him to remember his mother in an affectionate light, their relationship a distant one ever since he was a child. After...Alexi died, Victor felt like he failed her somehow as a son. And on the other side of that coin, she was unable to reconcile her grief, and the chasm between them widened even more.

 _Family._ Skating was his family. Yakov, Mila, Otabek, _Yuri._ Even his fiercest competitors Christophe and Jean Jacques were lumped into this category somehow. The figure skating world was the only place he ever felt at home.

And now...one of his family was struggling, and it seemed like no matter how much he tried, he didn’t know how to fix it.

Victor huffed out a sigh and turned to walk back the way he came, eyes trained carefully on his feet when his ankle thrummed with that annoying tightness. Last thing he wanted was to fall on his face again and —

_BAM!_

For the second time in as many days, Victor found himself steadying an armful of flustered young male.

The boy — a teenager with a shock of mostly blonde hair — shrieked and jumped back, his face almost as bright red as the lone swath of dyed bangs falling into his eyes.

 _“Honto ni gomen ne!”_ he mumbled in rapid Japanese, his hands pressed together in front of his face.

“Eh…?”

“I mean, I’m so, so sorry, Mister!” the teen said in English. He dropped to the ground and tried to gather a stack of fliers he apparently dropped when they collided.

“It’s all right,” Victor said, bending likewise to help as much as he could. This seemed to make the boy even more nervous.

“No, no, please don’t trouble yourself, Mister!” he said, arms flailing in his task, and really not making any progress in organizing the messy pile. Eventually, the boy gave up, and stuttered out several thank-yous punctuated by short bows, before sprinting away in the direction he was headed.

Victor sat there still kneeling, a few of the fliers in his hand. He blinked a few times, and couldn’t help but feel as if he was just hit by a miniature tornado.

“You’re welcome?” he said to no one, and rose back to his feet. Sighing, he looked down at the papers in his hands.

The title, a brazen white across the top of the flier, was in Japanese, but based on the basic clip art, Victor could tell it was for an upcoming figure staking event at a place called _Ice Castle Hasetsu._

Oh yeah. That’s right. There was an ice rink close to the inn somewhere. A grin lifted the corner of his mouth.

Might as well...check it out.

He folded the flier, and put it in his pocket.

* * *

By the time Victor made his way to Ice Castle, early evening was just starting to settle in, the golden sun striping the sky with ribbons of tangerine. It was beautiful, and Victor took a moment to breathe the fragrant air. 

That serendipitous wind that had been strangely absent, suddenly surged up behind him, ruffling his hair, and all but tugging him in the direction of the ice rink. He couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, hopeful feeling welling up in his chest and lengthening his stride.

He pulled open the glass doors with a gleaming smile.

“Hi!” he said to the young woman tying laces behind the counter. She froze, clapping her hands over her face and making a high-pitched squealing noise.

Victor looked around, noticing for the first time how deserted the place seemed.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Erm...go-men-ne-sigh. Are you open?”

Another squeak. Then a nod. Then she cleared her throat. “W-would you like a pair of skates?”

The thought was tempting, and Victor glanced down at his ankle, lifting his toes off the floor and truly examining it from side to side. In the end, though, he decided against it.

“Ah, no thank you,” he said, looking up. “I just wanted to check it out.” He smiled again, running his hand through his hair.

More rapid nodding. “Of course!”

Victor grinned, pulling out a handkerchief. “You have a little...”

“Oh god!” she said, taking the proffered cloth and pressing it to her face to staunch the sudden onset of a minor nosebleed.

“Just through there?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction of the double doors.

“Mhmm,” the woman squeaked again, brown eyes wide and smiling behind the handkerchief. He winked, and made his way into the arena.

The smell of cold ice and rubber floors greeted him, and the sound of blades slicing to and fro never failed to cause the hair to rise on his arms. It was empty, deserted, aside from the few glimpses of a lone figure out in the rink.

Victor approached carefully, not wanting to alert the skater to his presence. There was something almost...sacrosanct about the atmosphere, and he was loath to disturb it. 

Quietly, he made his way up a set of bleachers on the far side of the rink.

Although Victor was quite a ways away, he immediately recognized the skater. How could he _not_ after watching hours of footage the night before? The graceful arch of a back, the fluidity of a rather impressive step sequence, and the passion lovingly attributed to every nuance and movement belonged to none other — than Yuuri Katsuki.

The gentle poise of a perfect Ina Bauer had him transfixed, and he almost missed the bench when he sat down.

Point-wise, it wasn’t the most technically impressive, but the choreography...was stunning. There was no need for music because the skater’s body was the music. A fine-tuned instrument where subtelty and expression married in an outpouring of the soul.

Victor leaned forward as Katsuki began to pick up speed, his countenance intense, his feet sure. Victor could feel the anticipation of the crescendo, and wasn’t aware he was holding his breath until the skater dug his toe into the ice and landed a near-perfect triple axel. It was the most ambitious of Katsuki’s program yet, and Victor could tell that even though he wasn’t in peak physical form, Yuuri Katsuki had an incredible amount of stamina.

Suddenly, Katsuki stumbled and came to an abrupt halt.

Victor blinked in surprise, having been jarred back to the present. His heart nearly dropped through the floor when he noticed that intense sorrel gaze aimed in his direction.

However, upon second glance, Victor tracked Katsuki’s line of sight to — not himself in the stands — but to a lone figure standing mesmerized on the ice.

The figure took a hesitant step towards Katsuki, and it wasn’t until he stepped into the light that Victor’s heart continued its rapid staccato in his chest. 

_Yura._

Wait —? _What?!_

Like a startled deer, Katsuki ducked his head and hurriedly skated out of the rink.

Victor jumped to his feet, torn between wanting to follow this beautiful enigma, and staying because there — standing on the ice with a determined look on his face — was Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuri, who hadn’t been convinced to do more than listlessly drift around the ice for months, was now picking up speed, skates flashing in the light, the _chuck_ of a toe pick and then…!

Victor clapped his hands over his mouth, the sting of tears in his eyes as Yuri landed a wobbly, yet decent quad Salchow. He stood stock-still, watching as Yuri panted, his hands clenching fist-fulls of his long hair. At first Victor was worried, especially when Yuri’s shoulders started shaking. But then he heard it — that giddy laughter — followed by a completely joyous _whoop_ of triumph, right before he took off again.

The feeling in Victor’s chest was growing by the minute, pressing against that damn he kept erected around his heart, until he was positively overflowing. There was guilt there, as well as joy and loss in equal measure, all compounded by his exhaustion, and it was all unbearably too much. The cool air prickled as it dried the wet tracks on his cheeks, and suddenly he felt unnatural and exposed. Hastily, he scrubbed at his face, flattened his bangs to cover his eyes, and made his way down the steps.

Through the blur of his lashes, he exited through the first door he came to, which happened to be the exit on the opposite end of where he came in.

His palms hit the door latch with a bang, and the evening air did little to loosen the vise in his throat. He gasped, vision watery and jaw clenched, unaware of where his feet were taking him.

 _‘Anywhere. Anywhere but here…’_ he kept repeating to himself. He rounded the building in what he hoped was the direction of the main road, and in his distress his wonky ankle gave a rubbery twist. Before he realized what was happening, Victor found himself sprawling yet again, his shoulder slamming painfully against the side of the building to brace himself.

“ _Мне жаль. Мне так жаль._ ”

He didn’t even realize he was speaking out loud until, a voice tried to get his attention.

“Hey? Hello, are you okay?”

Victor looked up, and for the second time he was stunned speechless by a pair of expressive, soulful eyes. And all he could do was blink stupidly in response.

Yuuri Katsuki gave an uncertain smile, and it was so warm and kind that Victor had to avert his gaze, lest he start crying again, for chrissake. He gasped a shuddering gasp, apparently forgetting to breathe again.

“Here,” Yuuri said, and Victor startled when a pair of gentle hands led him a few feet to where a set of concrete steps were. “If you’ve hurt yourself, it’s best to sit for a moment.”

“Yes,” Victor said dumbly. Now that the shock of the sudden barrage of feeling was over, cold humiliation was starting to set in. He fidgeted with the hem of his black shirt as Yuuri took a seat next to him.

Surprisingly it wasn’t awkward. In fact, Victor found a modicum of comfort in Yuuri’s silent presence. That was until Yuuri started giggling.

Victor’s head snapped up, indignant, a scowl forming with embarrassed fury.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri snickered, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “It’s just —”

“What?” Victor bit out.

“Well...you’re kind of an ugly crier, that’s all.”

“I am not!” he said, wounded.

“Yeah, you are, but it’s okay,” Yuuri said, grinning even wider. “I like it.”

The next retort died in Victor’s throat at this. “You do?”

“Well...yeah. It kind of evens the field a little,” Yuuri said, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I didn’t think I would ever get over the fact the first time I really met you I practically swooned and had you tuck me into bed. How embarrassing.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Victor said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well then you don’t either. Even if you _are_ an ugly crier.”

Victor clapped a hand over his heart. “You slay me,” he said, and was pleased when Yuuri laughed.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know,” Victor said, gripping Yuuri’s warm hand in his. “Victor Nikiforov.”

“I know,” Yuuri parroted back, cheeks blooming an even deeper, more charming shade of red. “Nice to _meet_ you, meet you.”

“Same here,” Victor said, falling once more into those bright eyes. 

It wasn’t until much later, when the sun was set and the air was thick with the scent of blossoms, until Victor was once again staring at the end of the dark hallway at a closed door — the feeling of wonder and potential and... _life_ pounding through his chest — that Victor realized he was in deep...deep trouble.


End file.
